Johnlockchallenges Gift Exchange 12-12 A Gift for beloved-complex7
by KDVaren
Summary: For {beloved-complex7.}, based on his/her prompt: "Sherlock married John before ASiP" for the johnlockchallenges' gift exchange {johnlockchallenges.}


He had felt the shot from across the world.

He had always thought that the idea of being so emotionally connected enough to someone to feel their physical pain was such a ridiculous notion until one late night in July in a hotel in New York City. Sherlock Holmes was abroad working on a private case when John Watson was shot. The knowledge that something was wrong with John came so violently and urgently that Sherlock had been yanked from examining his encyclopedia of tobacco ash in his Mind Palace; a occurance which had never before happened; to be forcibly removed from his Mind Palace for no physically apparent reason. He had spent several minutes in a state of sheer panic until he had calmed himself down to a level of which he could function properly. After ruling out all other possibilities; he was not injured, he was not being attacked, no natural disasters were occurring, etc, Sherlock plundered about himself as to what could have been the cause of his brain shutting down. On the cusp of frustration at being utterly befuddled a thought had struck him.

_Could it be? No. Impossible. Ludicrous. However, the panic...?_

Sherlock's mobile rang.

_Rang; therefore, not a text. Rang; therefore, Lestrade or Mycroft. Rang; Lestrade knows explicitly that I am to be in America and otherwise occupied, therefore, Mycroft. Rang; Mycroft, therefore, something has happened to John._

Sherlock had snatched up his mobile with lightening speed. A calmness settled over his limbs not felt in his racing heart as he heard Mycroft's silken serpent voice crawl into his ear.

"_Sherlock...John...shot...plane in the next four hours; be on it."_

The flight from New York City to London Heathrow had been a flight Sherlock had made on a small handful of occasions for cases over the years but never before had the flight felt to be so eternally long in duration. Mycroft had not supplied many details; only that John had been shot in the line of duty and Sherlock was being taken as directly to John as Mycroft could manage. Sherlock was to fly from New York to London and from London Mycroft's people would collect him and he would be flown privately to Afghanistan. Once on Afghanistan land Sherlock would be met by Mycroft himself and together they would journey by vehicle to the military hospital where John was being treated. When Sherlock had protested Mycroft's presence his older brother had simply stated, "Honestly, Sherlock. How do you expect to be allowed to see John unless I am there to guarantee clearance."

Sherlock slumped in his seat of Mycroft's government car stewing many hours later as they speed across the desert.

_Family. Legally, John and I are not family. However, in all other senses of the word, John Watson is more my family than Mycroft or Mother have ever been. John, oh god, John. Be ok._

Sherlock Holmes had never known unconditional love and acceptance until he had met John Watson. They had met during a case Sherlock had taken for penance to Mycroft. Mycroft suspected that a particular British Army unit had been conducting rather dubious behavior with the Taliban. So he had sent Sherlock in to investigate. Mycroft had been right, of course. Sherlock blew the case wide open in only a few short days during which he had been threatened, assaulted, and kidnapped multiple times. The only factor that had saved Sherlock's life other than his mind and been Mycroft's inside source; Doctor John Watson. John; astoundingly brave John, had discovered the dirty secrets of his own unit and had demonstrated his mass intellect by managing to contact Mycroft directly and discreetly.

_Brilliant John._

From that point onward John and Sherlock had remained in close friendship. John had returned to his duty and Sherlock returned to London. Through emails, phone calls, and mostly text messages they remained in contact on a continous basis for the better part of a year. John astounded and confounded Sherlock as no one ever had before. Sherlock was mesmerized by how simple and yet extreme John Watson was. Then, much to Sherlock's distress, John had volunteered to take part in a brutally dangerous mission as the unit physician. It would be a three-month mission, possibly longer. So John and Sherlock had said their goodbyes over a phone call. John assured Sherlock that he was sure he was needed and Sherlock had rambled on at lightening speed all the dangers of secret military missions and desert-immersion situations. After the call had ended, Sherlock had sent one text to John.

_Don't get killed, Idiot. I love you. SH_

_ "I'll be fine, Git. I love you, too."_

_ No, John. I am in love with you. SH_

_ "I know. I am in love with you, too."_

Mycroft tapping on Sherlock's shoulder alerted him that they had arrived. Sherlock had been so immersed in his thoughts he hadn't even noticed. Exiting the vehicle Sherlock followed Mycroft into the Army hospital entrance. While Mycroft handled the business of gaining clearance Sherlock held back, silently watching the going-ons, blood rushing through his ears.

_I wonder how many times John has walked through these halls performing his duty to his country. Did he ever think he'd one day be lying on a surgery table, fighting for his life, and that I would be waiting in the lobby with my sod of a brother, going mad with worry over him? Probably. John is practical in expecting realities. Stupid John with his stupid medical degree and his stupid student debt and his stupid committment to the Army. _

Suddenly Mycroft was next to him looking grim. Sherlock followed him. An elevator ride upwards and several meters later they stood in front of a private room with the curtain drawn. Mycroft's doing, no doubt. Sherlock had made sure Mycroft would keep his eyes on John during his service time. A cost Sherlock had for once agreed to and never regretted. He took cases when Mycroft had them for him; dull or otherwise, gaining favors with Mycroft's people along the way, favors they were both pulling in on now. With a last look shared with Mycroft conveying the gratitude Sherlock would never again acknowledge, he pulled aside the hospital curtain and stepped inside alone.

John had never once seemed anything less than sturdy during all the time Sherlock had known him. Even when John was bloodied and bruised, wrists bound tightly to Sherlock's in a cave in Afghanistan. Even when John would confess his fears about his sister's unsuccessful rehabilitation over emails. Even when John would share his worst moments of his day-to-day medical service life; a friend he couldn't save, a Afghan child he pulled apart and couldn't put the pieces back together again. John had always been brave, tough, stubborn, loyal, and had a moral conscious of ridiculous size and a bleeding heart of love. But John lay on that hospital bed and Sherlock's mind was immediately reminded of a baby bird he watched die broken once in his childhood.

John's hands lay folded over his chest as he slept. The bandage looked gruesome against his left shoulder. Sherlock snatched up John's confidential medical chart and poured over his assessed injuries. Once satisfied with the treatments administered, Sherlock returned the chart and pulled the only chair in the room up to John's bedside. He sat there, fingers stepelled under his chin, for an undetermined amount of time. Time proved to be truly irrelevant when Sherlock immersed himself within his mind. He replayed and examined every conversation and experience he and John had ever had during their friendship. Each instance, each word, was carefully removed from John's Room in his Mind Palace and caressed by the long, pale fingers of Sherlock's vast mind. No action to small, no word to insignificant. Several moments stood out amongst the rest; moments that left Sherlock stumbling to control himself; moments that rendered him speechless.

_**Don't get killed, Idiot. I love you. SH**_

_** "I'll be fine, Git. I love you, too."**_

_** No, John. I am in love with you. SH**_

_** "I know. I am in love with you, too."**_

_** I am not important. The work is what is important. The work takes precedence. SH**_

_** "Sherlock, of the thirty-nine years of my life and all the people I've ever know I've never met someone who wasn't important."**_

Sherlock realized in that instant that a decision had to be made in regards to John. Thus far, Mycroft and John's sister Harry remained the only two people who knew about Sherlock's relationship with John. Particulars had never been discussed but it was obvious that there would be no withdraw from either party after the exchange of declarations of love. Sherlock wanted very much to share his every moment with John and was more than willing to take the plunge into unknown territory. The fear that a romantic relationship between himself and John would ruin their friendship did not deter Sherlock's intent in the slightest; it did, however, make Sherlock want it that much more. So a decision must be made. If it had not been for Mycroft's intervention Sherlock would not have known John had been injured. If not for Mycroft's influence Sherlock would not have been permitted to visit John at his bedside as he was now. The idea of being denied thus made Sherlock's blood boil; only because he and John were not legally "family". Sherlock, therefore, had no rights to John. An idea, which, only became more and more absurdly obscene as the seconds ticked by in his mind.

A quick trip into the hallway to conduct a brief conversation with Mycroft brought center back into Sherlock's world. He had made a decision. With Sherlock's mind set at ease and his heart bayed to rest, he rest his head next to John's side on the mattress.

When Sherlock awoke he was greeted with a sight he had no idea he'd wanted so badly to see until he had. John was awake, and sitting up in his bed. His brow was furrowed in that infuriatingly enduring way it did when John was trying to figure something out.

"Sherlock," John began with trepidation, "What are these papers for?"

"Wait, John. Damnit, I wanted to introduce this lightly." Sherlock replied, cutting a glare in the general direction he suspected he would find Mycroft lurking.

"Is this what I think it is?" John asked almost in awe.

"I suppose in a way it is, yes. However, I don't want this to be it. Not for you, John. Nothing short of everything will ever do for you as far as I am concerned."

A pause, "Then, why?"

"Because John. I know what I am to you and what you are to me. And this whole situation has truly opened my eyes to what could have been. A possibility I should have foreseen when you first told me of your muscle-brained nitwit idea to take part in this kamikaze mission. An oversight made on my part that I will never make again. I suggest this as a temporary fix to our dilemma."

"Say it, Sherlock. I want to hear you say it."

"I want us to be legally married. Signing these documents will contract us by marriage to one another. I will be your spouse and you will be mine and therefore we will be responsible for each other. This way I will be immediately notified of any of your medical emergencies. If you are permitted and if you so desire to finish out the duration of this mission, know that there will be a home for you in my home in London when you are ready to part with your sense of duty. I want to share my life with you, John; fully and completely and domestically. Also, know that this is not the end of this experience John. When the time is right, when you and I are both ready, there will be a proper ceremony with proper guests and witnesses and photos and all that trivial that comes with weddings. There will be rings if you wish and long-thought-of oaths spoken to one another. I want you to have this, John, and you will have it. But for the immediate time being I suggest that we become legal as it will be the simplest solution to our current predicament."

John remained silent for a moment. "Should I, ya know, ask? Propose?"

A devilish smiled spread across Sherlock's lips and John will later swear there had been a hint of a blush. With an exaggerated flourish Sherlock produced from this jacket breast pocket a simple writing pen.

"John Hamish Watson with this pen will you sign your name giving consent to become my husband and make me the happiest I've ever been in my life and make me the happiest man in the world?"

John's laughter burst forward with such force his medical surveillance machines reacted in alarm.

"Yes, you bumbling brilliant fantastic man. I will." John replied with the widest smile Sherlock had ever seen.

John and Sherlock both signed their names on all the appropriate documents. Not a second after Mycroft floated into the room smiling like a serpent. John blushed a brilliant shade of crimson and Sherlock narrowed his eyes in defiant challenge. Mycroft made no comment whilst collecting the completed forms and left the room.

"I've probably a few hours before Mycroft herds me back to London with him where I can be properly spied upon." Sherlock sigh with resign.

"That's fine. It's all fine." John replied with a soft smile spread on his lips. John reached forward and took Sherlock's hand in his own. "It will give us time to be delivered our options concerning my condition and to make decisions regarding our arrangements; together."

"I wish I could remain with you for the duration of your treatment, regardless of whatever option we choose, you will probably be hospital-bound for a few weeks to come."

"I do too," John said. "But I'm sure there is much for you to do in London; finalize our legal matters, prepare your home for me, and cause as much trouble as possible as you always do. I'm sure you will find something to occupy yourself with."

"As a matter of fact, I did receive a very rattled phone call from a befuddled Detective Inspector Lestrade recently." Sherlock responded with a hint of glee.

"Oh? And?"

"A series of what appear to the common wealth and the simple idiots of Scotland Yard to be unrelated suicides except for the clearly obvious signs which the police evidently fully intend to stupidly ignore which deduce and therefore unarguably conclude that the suicides are, in fact, not at all unrelated. I highly suspect this in particular will unfold into a doubtless case of serial suicides."

"Murders?"

"Obvious."


End file.
